Strangest of Places
by HikaruAdjani
Summary: Raheli Dawnstrider's trip to Northrend was an answer to just another call from the Warchief, just another place to fight for the Horde, except that the spirits have other plans for her. (Adult content warning, Lemons, fluff, smut, not entirely consensual, blah, blah, blah.) Another story from the depths of my hard drive. WotLK, companion piece to Butterflies, one shot.


The zeppelin had begun to drop through the clouds, and the tauren female standing at its prow frowned as land came into view for the first time in days. It was, just as she'd been warned, cold, and she held her shoulders against the chill. Another faraway place, in the name of the Warchief. She sighed, and her breath showed. At least _this _one was on the Land. The last place she'd been sent in Thrall's name, at his request, had not been. It had been an alien and broken land, not her birth land, filled with angry and hostile spirits which did not answer the way they should. Certainly, it was the Warchief's birth land, and special for it, but it was no place for one of the Shu'halo. Only her loyalty to him had taken her there, to that place so faraway, through a portal which had snatched her away from her own spirits.

"Aren't you cold, Raheli?" One of the orcs standing guard over her asked, and she snorted into the breeze.

"It is cold, yes." She agreed. The orders to come from Shadowmoon to here had come quickly, and all the lands she'd been to recently had been hot, or at least warm. She had no clothing for this and her coat was satin smooth, she'd shed out as much as possible during her time on Draenor. "I am to be provisioned from the quartermaster here." She continued when she caught sight of his dubious expression.

"Does us no good if you catch a chill and die from it." He noted, and she nodded mildly. Indeed, it did not, but Raheli was stronger and healthier than she appeared to be.

"So this is Northrend." She mused, and he nodded. "Territory of the Lich King." He nodded again, and she shrugged. Again, it all came down to the same, another place to stand on in the Warchief's name. It had been so long, too damned long, since she'd roamed the expanses of the True Lands, Kalimdor, cradle of the People. Such was the price she paid...

"I will inform the quartermaster that you require provisions, then." He said, and she nodded, far away in mind if not body.

The zeppelin docked, and Raheli Dawnstrider climbed down the ramps to set hoof on Northrend.

"Another zeppelin."

Darken Grimtotem turned his head slightly at the statement. Zeppelin meant it originated from the Horde, and had landed at Warsong. Other than that, it did not really matter to him. Just more midges for him to kill. "Anything interesting?" He asked, more because the mage manning the scrying pool wanted him to ask than from any real curiosity. Mages could be fickle and petulant, and he preferred to not deal with one in a snit.

"How about that?" The mage asked, and Darken blinked. Well, compared to the multitude of other sights the mage had shown him, it was a lovely sight indeed. Much, much better than scrying Warsong's bathing pools full of naked orcish females, which was one of this particular mage's fetishes. _That _was Shu'halo. One of the people. A cow, and a rather appealing one at that. "We've been looking for _that _one." The mage noted, and Darken stared at him. Looking for that one meant she was on the Lich King's list.

"Who is she?" He asked, leaning in to the pool. She was pretty, yes, with a bold white splash across her forehead, and intent gray eyes.

"Raheli Dawnstrider. One of Thrall's procession, was in Draenor the last we heard."

"Druid?" Darken asked, the tip of his broad nose almost on the surface of the bright liquid.

"Shaman."

"Ah...ha." That explained much of it. A gifted Shu'halo shaman was a prize indeed. Few of the People fell, but the Master treasured all those who had. Those buttressed by their connection to the ancestors held on longer through desperation, or simply chose to die. "They will keep her close." He warned. A member of Thrall's processional would not go far from Warsong's relative safety. They'd protect this one with blood and death if that's what it came to.

"Probably, but we were to watch for her, and here she is." The mage shrugged, his meaning obvious. It was not his task to bring them in, only to note them when they arrived. "Poor bugger, you'd think Thrall would clothe her better."

Darken narrowed his eyes. Indeed, yes. She had the mirror coat of a fine cow in the height of summer, and was not warmly enough garbed for Northrend. "She's been brought straight in from Draenor. Perhaps we should...see to that."

The mage looked confused, then shrugged. Again, that was a detail he was not responsible for. He just watched for those on the list. Darken moved away, stepped out onto the balcony into a blast of icy air. Unlike the newly arrived Shu'halo cow, he was dressed for it, and his coat was thick and dense. The world was silent out here, deep and peaceful, and he nodded, carrying on into the depths of Icecrown. He had a task, a direction. It was time to start taking care of this one. After all, the Lich King took care of his own, whether or not they realized that was what they were.

A hot bath, a heavy meal, and Raheli was ready for sleep. She'd been that way for days, but finally felt safe and comfortable enough to do it fully. She curled up deeply into the bed of furs provided and slept, dreamlessly, for hours. She was quite unaware when the stealthy forms scaled the sides of the Hold, bearing bags upon their backs.

_"gghurghl." _One of them whispered, and the others nodded, dropping their bags and vanishing into the shadows. The eighty foot drop from the window was effortless, a single bound, and they scattered back into the darkness, bounding and leaping as they went.

It was cold when Raheli woke, and the light was pale even though she felt it was afternoon. She had slept hard enough to not awaken when the quartermaster had brought in bags, and she wrinkled her nose. She was perfectly capable of going down to get them herself, but that was obviously not necessary.

The clothes within were of a quality and richness that were odd for handouts from the quartermaster, and she smoothed the fur collar on a cloak with a thoughtful hand. "Not bad." She mused, delving into the sudden largesse. No, not bad at all. Heavy, warm, opulent without being overdone, these were crafted by no orc. Everything about them reeked of a highly regarded, cherished member of the People. These had been crafted by Shu'halo hands, or under the supervision of one of the People. She nodded, smiled. It was about time. She dressed and exited her room, to begin her tasks here.

Rog'nar, head of the detail assigned to protect Raheli Dawnstrider, grumbled as he climbed. How was it so damned difficult to care for that one? Maybe just once, if she threw a tantrum, she'd make his life easier. If she acted like she was supposed to, then she could get what she needed. But she did not, and he was left trying to pick up the pieces and keep her well. If she had been an orcish female, with that sort of temper, everything would have been more than ready for her arrival. Warsong had known she was coming, and still had not adequately prepared. He heard hooves, and glanced up. Not Raheli... but yes, it was. She wore garb exactly as she should and nodded gracefully at him as he drew up even with her on the stairs.

"Thank you, Rog'nar." She smiled and he frowned. She must have caught his confusion, tilting her head, the pale sunlight playing along the mithril and jeweled capping on her horns. "For the clothes. They're lovely. Much more than I was expecting."

Odd. The quartermaster had just told him there was little in stores, and she'd have to wait. "Right." He muttered, nodding, moving past her and into her rooms. There were bags here, and several other pieces of clothing laid out, and he picked up a kilt, burying his nose in it. It smelled of leather, and of Northrend... exactly. None of this had come from Kalimdor's beasts. The feathers were Imperial eagle feathers, the beads banded agates from the heights of Northrend's mountains. The leathers and furs from the large, angry beasts of this desolate continent. He growled slowly, resting the garment down again.

"What is it?" Dorgan was still young enough to see only the glory and honor in this posting, and not the downfalls of it.

"These did not come from our stores, nor are they from Mulgore." It was not inconceivable that the tauren would decide to provision their own champion from their craftsmen. "These are from Northrend."

"The taunka?"

Rog'nar paused. Ah, the paranoia of an old orc, leading him to panic when the answer was so simple. That made entirely too much sense. How better to get further in the Horde's good graces than to deck out Raheli in clothes befitting her station? Of all of the high ranking horde emissaries here in Northrend, she was tauren, and there was little difference between tauren and taunka. Their styles and loves were the same. "Of course, the taunka." He agreed slowly. "I'll have them checked anyway, since I don't know where they came from. I don't like magically appearing gifts."

"Magically appearing gifts, eh?" The sin'dorei mage stared at the bundles thoughtfully. "No, no magic brought them here. They were carried." He glanced around Raheli's chambers, moving the bags. "There's no magic on them whatsoever. The only magic in this room is in there..." He pointed without fail at a battered pack that Rog'nar knew all too well. Raheli had carried it onto Draenor with her. Brought it back from Draenor with her. It was hers, and carried all of the little amulets, potions, powders, fish parts and whatever else she felt she needed. "And that is not of Northrend. You are over reacting. Nothing here feels of any baneful intent."

"My thanks." Rog'nar growled, and indeed, was calmed.

"Ah, Raheli." She reflected the welcoming smile with her own wide grin. "Does an old heart good to see you again."

"Likewise, my warlord." She breathed, and Saurfang clapped her on the shoulder.

"Welcome to Northrend, welcome to Warsong." He greeted, blatantly ignoring the deep snort from the other male orc in the pit with him. "You know Garrosh."

"I do."

"More shamans." Garrosh snapped, "As if we need more of those. I don't like the thought that Thrall sends another to keep an eye on me, and I know that is why you've come, Raheli."

"On one hand you complain that we hold too many assets in Draenor, and then complain when I am sent from Draenor here?"

He wrinkled a lip in disgust. "One small shaman will not make any difference. A legion of orc warriors will. The might and glory of the horde will, if we bring it to bear against our enemies." He paused, then stared at her. "Why do you _smell _so oddly?"

"Eh?" She demanded. That was a new one. Never, ever, had she had an orc comment on how she smelled. Not that they were the sweetest smelling creatures either... Both of the fully mature males here had an unusually strong odor, not entirely pleasant, but not entirely _un_pleasant, either. She was used to male orcs, since going into Thrall's service, she had seen a great many of them and precious few of her own people.

"Garrosh." Saurfang chided, and the younger orc blinked. "Raheli has come a long way, this is no way to greet her. The zeppelin from Orgrimmar is a long, long journey."

Which was a subtle orc way of Saurfang acknowledging it. Raheli frowned, flared her nostrils. She smelled plenty out of place, the scents of an entirely new land, the acrid smell of nerubians close by, salt water and beach, she smelled the leather of the new clothing, braziers burning in the depths of the Hold, and the pervasive smell of male orcs. But she didn't smell herself, or anything odd in that. But then, she was an alchemist by trade, and that by its very nature created some quite unusual scents that seemed to cling well past when they should.

"Ah, well." Garrosh shrugged, "Yes. Welcome to Northrend, Raheli."

_Now go away_. He didn't say it, but she was well aware he thought it. So much fire and fury, such little thought for the consequences of it... A young bull tauren walked by and her mind was lost to that thread of thought, she watched him go, contemplative. Not bad. He was not a wonderful specimen, a little too slight, and she disliked his coloration, but...overall...worth watching.

_"Raheli!" _Saurfang snapped, with the air that he'd called her name more than once and gotten no answer.

"Yes, my warlord?" She inquired, fighting down her peevish response. He stared between her and the departing, oblivious bull, then snorted in laughter.

"Time enough for that later. We have business now that you're here. Come. I'd like to go over my reports with you and get your thoughts."

_Oh, lovely, reports. _She frowned, pinning her ears back slightly. Where was her mind off to today? She'd been easily distracted over the past few days, and had put it down to the journey, but now that she'd arrived, it only seemed to be worsening.

"She seems distracted." The mage stated, and Darken nodded. Yes, she did indeed, oddly so. "And she stinks badly enough for male orcs to note it."

Darken thoughtfully pulled on his chin beard. Smelled strongly enough for two _male _orcs to notice it, although she was wearing entirely new clothes, and had bathed before sleeping the night before. "She bathed last night, and the clothes are new. I just sent them to her. She should not smell any differently than normal, and both of the warleaders know her."

The mage paused thoughtfully, his glowing eyes resting on the tauren bull. "Which means what?"

"Which means she smells differently than she ought, and strongly enough for both of them to notice. How old is she now?" Surely it could not be, but there was only one reason for a cow to suddenly start smelling differently.

The mage tilted his head, waving long fingers in the air. "Twenty nine. She was born twenty nine years ago."

Darken nodded slowly. More than old enough, but surely... "How much can you tell with that?"

"What do you want to know, milord?" The mage asked, and Darken pondered.

"Tell me, has she been with a bull?"

That was a question that even the rather perverse sin'dorei mage had not seen coming, he proved it by a succession of rapid blinks and a sharply raised brow. "You want to know if she's a virgin? Er...if cows can be...?"

"That is _exactly _what I wish to know."

The mage shrugged, and waved his fingers again. He paused, then glanced up. "Yes. She is. Untouched. And that is very, very important right now, and I can't tell you why."

Darken snorted in laughter, shaking his head. "Because." He breathed slowly, "That means that Thrall's shy, lovely little shaman is probably going into heat. They make this all too very easy, my friend. All too very easy." The closer she came to it, the less cautious and sane she'd become. She'd wear through Saurfang's temper, and Garrosh already disliked her. It was wonderful. Saurfang was older, wiser, and if he knew enough about his tauren allies, he might just see what was coming. But Darken doubted if he knew. "None of those orcs has the slightest idea what is happening."

Rog'nar had known Raheli Dawnstrider for years, eight of them to be exact. He'd been beside her through battles and festivals both, and felt he knew her as well as he knew any of his comrades in arms. "What _is _that smell?" Dorgan demanded under his breath, and Rog'nar could only shrug. He had no answer to that question, except for the obvious...it was Raheli. It wasn't an unpleasant smell, it was just extremely distracting, and Rog'nar couldn't decide why. Normally she smelled, well, like a clean, healthy animal. Salty, dusty, coated, but never strong. Tauren bulls could get pretty rank, but cows were usually not.

"Northrend doesn't agree with her." He said, and the younger orc only gave him the look that statement deserved. "Maybe she drank one of her own potions, and _it _didn't agree with her." That was the highest probability. And if so, it would wear off in a couple of days. It always did. "We'll just keep her out of public for awhile and when it wears off, let her out again."

"Sounds like a plan." Dorgan nodded, and Rog'nar smiled. The young one was finally beginning to realize just what was involved in taking care of a great champion of the Horde. It was a thankless task, but honorable, and someone needed to do it.

Three baths had not done the trick. Raheli wasn't sure what was going on, but she was aware it was still present. "I stink." She marveled, and Saurfang coughed.

"Stink is a harsh term. You smell."

"Stink. Smell. What's the difference?" She sat and surveyed the maps. "And this is still bad. Between the Alliance, the Scourge, and this damnable fog, we'll never get dug in enough to assault Icecrown."

"Indeed not." He agreed.

"And still, no response from Icecrown?" That worried her more than any of it, combined.

Saurfang opened his mouth, almost said something, then shook his silver head. "No. Not in the way you mean. Always, the Scourge is present, but never mobilized. The Lich King put more planning into assaulting Kalimdorthan he appears to commit to protecting his own lands. He's brought us here, now what?"

There had to be an answer, and if she could keep her mind on her job, she might be able to help him find the way to it. She sighed, planting her forehead in her hand, feeling the weight of his eyes on the top of her head. "Forgive me if this is unwarranted." He finally began, "You have not seemed well since you arrived. Are you ill?"

"I'm not certain. If I was ill, could I not heal myself as I have before?"

"Northrend is a dark place, and its spirits are cold. So many dead, so many that should be dead and aren't. It's no place for one tied to the land and the spirits as you are, Raheli. We should have expected it to affect you poorly."

"I am not the only shaman on the ground here, Warlord. I am apparently the only one who stinks."

"Smells."

"Whatever."

"Does the Warchief know you are not yourself?" He asked carefully, and she shook her head at the thought.

"I am supposed to alleviate the Warchief's problems, Lord Saurfang, not add to them. What am I supposed to say? I smell funny, bring me home?"

He chuckled. "Your sense of humor remains intact, at least. Why have you been cloistering yourself in your rooms? You came to help me manage Garrosh, and I've seen precious little of you."

"My keepers are waiting until my stink wears off. I think Rog'nar thinks I messed up a potion or something." If it was that simple, she'd be happy. But it wasn't. "Is it hot in here?" The very words were foolish. Of course it wasn't hot in here. There had been a scrim of ice in her ewer this morning, and her breath, Saurfang's breath, was visible. He stared back at her for a long, measuring moment.

"No, Raheli. It's cold in here. Very cold. I was wondering why you had not lit the braziers." He stood, moved behind her and grasped her ears in the palms of his hands. He, at least, smelled good. Very good, and his touch was cool and gentle. "And you are hot. You're certain you're not ill?" He let go of her ears, and she nearly whined in distress. "Well." He sighed when she did not answer. "The wisest course is to assume you are ill. Which means..." He tipped the bucket of charcoal into the braziers and lit them. "You stay, and you stay warm. I'm sure this will pass quickly."

"You still think?" The mage inquired in fascination, and Darken nodded. He'd have to actually be close enough to her to smell her to be certain, but it definitely appeared so. "I didn't think your females did that."

"Only rarely."

"And what do we intend to do about this?"

Darken laughed. "One of the greatest Shu'halo shaman of this generation is about to go into heat. What in the hell do you _think _I'm going to do about this? Be available at the right time, of course. I live, still. I breathe, still. The offspring thrown from this would be...miraculous, and I will do whatever it takes to bring that to pass."

The mage grinned, and Darken snarled. "And no. You can't watch."

If possible, it was worse the next morning. Now, she could smell it herself, and Rog'nar, who had stood beside her for eight war seasons, bridled when he opened the door and smelled it. It was still too warm in her rooms, and those damned orcs kept relighting the braziers when she let them burn out. And her rooms were too small. She was no orc to be kept in a box like this. Where was the breeze? The singing of grass? She was Shu'halo, born bred and raised to live under the sky. She was born with a coat to keep her warm, she didn't need this ugly, dark structure to keep her protected.

She walked to the side entrance, gazing out. Something out there, in this new world, called to her. She wanted, _needed_, something, and it was out there. She knew that as strongly as if the spirits themselves had told her, even though they had been silent since she'd come here. She considered going to the kennel, getting her frostwolf, but that would be too noticeable. If she was to leave quietly, _he _was the last thing she needed. Yet another mark of the Warchief's favor, finding the puppy who would be large enough to carry her when it was grown, that would take to a tauren, had not been easy.

She shook her head and called upon the graceful magic contained within her own soul, pulling the spirit of the animal from herself, and shrank into her ghost wolf form. And like the ghost it appeared to be, she simply vanished out onto the tundra, missed by those who might have noticed her.

Darken hissed, jumping into motion. She had finally moved, and now he must as well. She was too vulnerable to be wandering out on the tundra, but again, if she was to come to him, she must. Obviously he had to smooth her way away from Warsong, ease her passage away from her keepers, her watchers. Keep her safe, and keep her moving away from those who might stop her.

After five hours, Raheli was beginning to wonder what all the fuss was about. Northrend appeared to be absolutely nothing but a haven for some very woolly kodo looking beasts. Lich King? Scourge? Hell, there didn't appear to even be any real predators around. This was what had so many of the greatness of the horde holed up in Warsong? No. Something else was going on, and she paused on a hill. Sudden, chilling sanity hit...something had been easing her way along, farther and farther away from safety. "Damnable fool." She hissed, returning to her natural form and staring around. Something had taken advantage of...whatever this was that had stricken her. Perhaps they were even responsible for it.

"I know you're there." She challenged the wind, the grass. Perhaps she was just being foolish, but the good thing about being this sort of foolish, was that if she was wrong and there was no one there, then there was no one to know.

"So I am."

She froze, the voice was, of course, behind her. She knew, no matter which direction she happened to be pointed in, it would be behind her. That was not the oddity. She had called her challenge in the language she used the most often, the language of the Horde, Orcish. The voice answered, not in Orcish, but in the language of the People, the true tongue, Taurahe.

"You brought me out here." It was easy to fall back into Taurahe.

"No." The voice disagreed, moving closer. She could hear the grinding crunch of hooves on stone, and finally he came closely enough to where she could see the edges of his hooves while she studied her own. "I did no such thing. I have not called to you, Raheli, of the Dawnstriders. You brought yourself out here, I merely followed."

No lie. Although the spirits seem to have fled her, she sensed no lie. This one had not brought her out here. This was no spirit. It was a Shu'halo bull. He placed hands on her shoulders and she frowned again. "Who are you? You know who I am." Of course he did.

"I am..." He paused thoughtfully, and she could bathe in his voice. "Chiar. Of the Grimtotem."

Bah. Grimtotem. Of course, what _else _would roaming these rhino infested wastes but a Grimtotem? "Darken. Of the Grimtotem." She sighed, and he chuckled. Again, it was a noise to immerse oneself in, and she cursed him for having it. She didn't want to turn. She didn't want to see. She already knew that this was a bull to be proud of.

"I've not served the Grimtotem in years, little one, do not hold my blood against me. Magatha does not have my loyalty." He stroked her mane, and she trembled under the touch. "Welcome to Northrend, precious."

"You're very free with your hands." She snapped, clinging that what little restraint she could muster. What in the hell was wrong with her? She wanted... more. She wanted this stranger, who so freely claimed the dark clan's blood, to do things to her that she barely knew existed.

He chuckled, burying his face in the ebony fall of her mane. "Little one, you have _no _idea." His hands dropped, and he embraced her as familiarly as any close friend. She should have responded with a blow, a spell, for his impudence, but all she could was stand in his grasp and drink it in.

"Something has gone horribly wrong with me." She mourned aloud and he moved his chin to her shoulder, the braided length of his chin beard falling over her like an ornament. It was black, of course. What else would a Grimtotem have? His hands were dark, but his forearms were not black... _he _was not black as most of them were. She turned, and that was a desperate mistake. He was, in fact, roan. An unreal blue roan, with darkened points, and faint primitive stripes that were not painted on, obvious since he wore little. He had deep indigo eyes, and a breathtaking spread of dark horns. _Nothing _compared to this. Nothing at all.

"Nothing has gone wrong with you." He stated mildly, loosening the ties on her tunic. "Things have waited with you, long enough. And they do now exactly as they are supposed to do, shaman of the Shu'halo."

"What do you mean?" She should stop him, she really should.

"You tell me, Elder one. You tell me why a cow is not supposed to be remain untouched for long after she becomes a full adult?"

_No. _No. It couldn't be _that _simple, and that terrifying. Even then, what he inferred was rare. It was so very rare that a cow went into heat, that...no. "You think I'm going into heat."

He smiled at her, an almost sad smile. "No, Raheli. I know you have gone into heat. Here. Now."

She pinned her ears back in distress, trying to force her mind through the fog of what he was doing. "That's terrible." She breathed, and he frowned. So terrible. Those whispered tales hinted of terror, of violence, of mindless rut. Pain. Degradation. No fine bull would play any part of it.

"There's no one here to see. There's only you. Only me. That's why you came out here."

"You're going to hurt me." And there was no other way around it. At least he was correct, this far away from Warsong, she wouldn't make a scene. Saurfang, Garrosh, would never see this. He grimaced, and pulled her tunic open.

"My intentions are to hurt you as little as possible." He sighed, "What would you ask of me, then, Raheli? Leave?"

"No."

"Then this will happen."

"Yes." She didn't want to admit it. She just wanted to turn around and go back to Warsong. Go back to someplace where things made sense. Unfortunately, out here, this made all too much sense.

He only nodded, stroking her bared belly, his eyes on her breasts. She ducked her head, shamed, and felt his eyes jump to the top of her head. "What is it?" He asked, "Does it bother you so to have me look?"

"You're beautiful." She whispered, her voice almost caught in the wind, and he flicked his ears forwards to catch them. "I'm...not."

The sadness in her voice tugged at Darken's heart, and he moved to come around behind her again. Where had she gotten this foolishness from? "Not?" He demanded, maneuvering between her and the wind, sheltering her. She had lovely silver breasts, full with pink nipples. As far down as her white belly splash went, he was willing to bet, willing to hope, that other things were pink as well. "I love a pink cow." He breathed into her ear. "They make me lust. Tell me, Raheli, are you? Pink?"

"Pink?" She stuttered.

"Pink. You know..." He grasped her kilt and slid it up until he could slide a hand beneath. "Pink." Her rump and tail were mostly dark gray, and he frowned. Perhaps he was to be disappointed, and he slid his hand around her hip to pull the opening forward. No. He was not. Her belly splash ended at her knees, her thighs were silver white, the long, fine hair over her sex was as bright as the moon in the sky. "You don't have to say. I have eyes to see." He breathed. "Take it off. All of it."

"It's cold out here."

"And I'll keep you warm."

She sighed, pulling off her tunic. Her breasts bobbed and swayed when she leaned over to unbuckle the kilt and he hardened within his sheath at the sight. Who was the fool who had told this one she wasn't lovely? He dropped what little he wore, the simple loincloth, and her glanced flicked at him and downwards. He was still sheathed, tightly so, but still very much in control of himself. He stepped up behind her, as closely as he could get, sheltering her from the wind behind him, and gathered her weight up in one arm, cupping her breast in his hand and rocking her slightly backwards to lean against him. "Shhh.." He breathed, allowing himself out of his sheath. Her eyes widened, and she gasped when he slid his darkness along her folds, until he could see his own head peeking out from that silver hair. She was feverishly hot, swollen, wet.

"Here." He took her hand and guided it downwards, "Touch me. And I'll..." He closed her fingers around his width planted between her thighs, "Touch you." He slid his finger between her hand and his hardness, finding the swelling node there. She gasped, leaning harder against him, pushing herself along his length and he shuddered. "Yeeesss." He growled, using his hold on her lower belly to let her go and then pull her close again, dragging her over his erection again.

A sudden, icy breeze rose, and he paused, tilting his head. No, not here. Not like this. She was correct, it was too damned cold for him to keep her, and if he judged that wind correctly, himself warm enough this night. Also, she'd be too damned easy for her keepers to find, all they had to do was follow the line of corpses he'd left along the way keeping her safe. He picked her up, swinging her easily enough into his grasp and moved off. By now, if his staff had been doing what they were supposed to be, he had just the perfect place in mind.

They had, and it was. This watchtower had been abandoned for months, waiting empty. He came here for the view and the solitude, and now he came for other reasons. There was a new pile of skins, a length of silken rope, a skin of wine with horns, and food. Not the fanciest surroundings to seduce her within, but unless he misjudged the smolder in those steely eyes, he would have to do very little seduction.

The braziers had been lit, and it was warm already. He rested her on the furs, nuzzling her breasts while his hand delved between her thighs. It was as he feared, she was not a large cow, and had been untouched for a long time. She was tight, small, and he could feel the edge of her child's membrane without even looking for it. "Drink with me." He sighed, releasing her to grasp the wineskin.

_"If, young one, you are entrusted with a cow in estrus, remember, she is the one who has lost herself. You are not. It is your responsibility to remain in control of yourself at all times, not hers. You must control. You must dominate, for her own good. She is in the hands of the old spirits, never forget that, and do not risk their anger from abusing her. "_

Darken sighed. If a cow in estrus was always in the hands of the old spirits, what was she, beloved by the spirits, guarded by when she was in heat? Wine would ease the way, dull the pain. He filled a horn and handed it to her. She drank deeply, and he knew she was considering the same. "Little one, I will do my best." It was not going to be easy, especially after what had just happened, but he was going to try. She nodded, drained the horn, and stood tall. It was a magnificent sight, while not a tall cow, she was handsomely built, large of breast and wide of hip.

"I was told that when this happened, it was the will of the old spirits of our people." She stated. "Those from times well before."

He stood as well, cautiously. "As I was taught. The will of the old spirits telling a cow when it was time to birth more of the People, overriding society and thought. Grimtotem bulls are taught that this is a blessing... the spirits telling a cow that she is too important to the tribes to allow to pass without calves. We are taught that this is a grave responsibility, to take care of the cow and not harm her while she is in the hands of the spirits and unable to fend for herself. Let go, Raheli. Let go. Have faith in the spirits you have devoted your life to. Let the heat rise, ride it where it takes you, and never be ashamed for it."

She nodded, sitting back down and spreading her thighs to allow him to see. He had been unrelentingly hard since she had been straddling him on the plains below, but now that he knew... it was difficult to keep control. She was pink, vividly so, pink and silver. She had been in heat for awhile, swollen, her bud thickened and purple. She touched herself, and a string of thick moisture followed her fingers. He groaned, dropping to his knees before her, his eyes locked upon her. She nodded slowly, and turned her back to him, before also going to her knees and resting her forehead against the floor. He grasped her hips, leaned in, and took a long, slow lick. She tasted of salt, vaguely of him, and a wondrous sweetness...the noise she made was nearly his undoing. He just wanted to lick her dry, but as he licked again, she gushed more, leaving him greedily swallowing.

"Please." She wailed in Taurahe, and he shook his head. No, not like this. To do this right required doing this wrong... He flipped her over suddenly, nearly violently, and her eyes widened when he grasped the rope. She was too small to take from behind, he was too large. Her instincts, that which controlled her now, would keep her trying to assume that position. He tied her down, and smiled. Just where he wanted her.

She had fine breasts, heavy, silver, and he sucked hard on her nipples, exulting when she vibrated against her bonds, her eyes wide open and empty of anything but her reaction to his touch. He poured the remnants of the wine over her breasts, into her navel, and between her thighs, then licked her coat dry, saving the best for last. She sobbed, cried and snarled when he went down between her thighs again, sucking her hard and swallowing deeply. He let her hang there, just on the edge of orgasm, before hiking her hips up with his hands and thrusting his darkness within her.

She screamed in equal parts release and anguish, caught in agony and orgasm. He let her cry it out, remaining still to let her absorb the pain, caressing her thickened bud with his fingers. "It's done, little one." He whispered, resting the weight of her hips, her rump, on his thighs and using his free hand to stroke her breasts. When her sobs changed timbre and returned to lust, he lowered her from his thighs, still tightly bound within her, and rested her back upon the furs, thrusting again.

He reached below himself, cupping his sac in his own grasp, and squeezed. Unlike the seed he would shoot when he came, unlike the semen even now dribbling from him, this was thick, white, heavy... calf milk. He doubted if it was necessary, the spirits had brought this into play for the purpose of a calf, but he had always enjoyed the release of it. Even when he knew it would not come to fruition, as with taunka females, who looked so much like his people, but weren't, he expelled it. The contracting emptiness always pushed him to a harder climax, made it feel complete. And this cow was exactly what she was supposed to be, Shu'halo, one of the true people, not the pale mockery that were Taunka cows. His mind wandered, as he fantasized about the nearly tauren denizens of Northrend, who annoyed the Master so. He didn't need to think anymore, he had his rhythm, the cow beneath him matched it thrust for thrust, her teats bobbing and swaying, and remembering playing with the taunka always amused him.

He came hard, bellowing his satisfaction to the growing darkness outside, and pulled himself from her. He was spent for now, the only bad side to giving her everything was that he...well...gave her everything. But it was the safest, no guarantee how much longer he'd have her like this. She could fall out of heat easily now, and then he'd be left with a coherent champion of the horde able to start making sense out of this. Chiar Grimtotem no longer served the Clan because he served the true Master. Forget Magatha's petty foolishness, he'd seen true power, a true calling, and hers wasn't it.

"Sleep it off, precious." He sighed, but she was already gone into unconsciousness. He left her bound, it was safer in case she did return to her senses, and because...well... it made a most appealing picture. He did cover her with a lovely taunka throw, and rested beside her, enjoying the time while it lasted. Life brought such joys only rarely.

Raheli was gone. Rog'nar was certain why, but he was certain of that truth. He'd searched high and low for her, and was now forced to admit to Saurfang that he had misplaced her. "I do not know, Warlord." He growled. "She has not..."

"Been herself since her arrival on Northrend." Saurfang sighed thoughtfully.

"That is so." Rog'nar agreed. And it was. Bringing her here had been a grave mistake, he just wasn't certain why. "She has left Warsong." Under her own power, according to every magical source he had asked. She had not been taken. She had not been snatched through a portal. According to each of them, Raheli Dawnstrider had left Warsong, bound in ghost wolf form, and had loped away from the Hold, unarmored, un-provisioned. That was suicide, and he was sick with the very idea of it.

"Find her. I do not want to tell the Warchief until we know better what is going on. Take whatever resources you need, find her, and if she lives, we send her back to Kalimdor. This has gone on long enough, Rog'nar. We have ignored her...illness...too long."

"Yes. Whatever it is., it's not her doing..."

"Raheli has been an example for the Horde for eight years, Rog'nar. A minor illness will not tarnish that loyalty in my eyes, nor in Thrall's. Just _find _her while we still can."

Just find her. That was not as easy as it sounded, Rog'nar had tried to trail shamans in ghost wolf before, and that was laughable. He'd tried trailing _this _shaman in ghost wolf before, and knew better than to try. Worse, last night had brought a blowing, salty dry snow to obliterate what little traces she might have left. This required a better tracker than he could ever hope to be, even if it meant putting up with the troll and its hellish hound.

"Find da cow, yah." The troll nodded, holding the throw from Raheli's bed. "The cow wid all da spots, yah. The stinky cow...no...no..." He stared at Rog'nar when the orc growled. "Stinky is good. Make her easy to find, mon."

Hopefully that didn't apply to everything else that might want to find her. The troll passed the blanket under the hellhound's nose several times, and nodded. "We go now."

There was a corpse on a hillock just off to the side of the scent line, and Rog'nar stared at it. Wolf. Scrawny, feral, local indigenous predator wolf, not a great orcish riding wolf, had been dead overnight. "Cow?" The troll asked, and Rog'nar shook his head. Not unless Raheli had grown five hands taller, doubled her body weight, and suddenly started wielding an axe. The top of the wolf's head was gone, destroyed, in a single cleave. "Those?" Rog'nar asked pointing to the first blatant set of tracks he'd seen. The troll tracker nodded, crouching and studying them. "Tauren bull. Big one, mon. Maybe taunka bull. He be..." He glanced backwards, then forwards. "He be coursing your cow. Clearing the way."

Why would a tauren bull, or even more bizarrely, a taunka, be aiding this? Rog'nar shrugged. At least now they had a fairly obvious trail. The ghost wolf was still difficult to track, but a large bull was not.

_"gguurgllh." _The sound startled Darken out of a deep sleep and he opened his eyes to stare straight into the geist's concerned face. Raheli was still unconscious, her breathing deep and unchanged.

"What?"

_"gruugh. gurllguch." _

"Of course I left a trail. I want them to come take care of her. _I _won't be able to." When she came to her senses, she'd be out for blood... _his_. The only hope he had was that she would maintain her unspoken part of the deal, and bring the calf to bear, if there was one. Many didn't, and that...that would enrage him.

_"rgguhgh." _

"Already?" Her keepers moved quickly, but he'd be disappointed if they didn't. "I understand." He pressed a kiss on her striped nose. "Hate to fuck and run, precious." He chuckled. He'd love to wait around and see if she had indeed dropped out of heat, but was willing to accept that she probably had. It was time to let her go back to her keepers, the diversion was over. It had been great fun while it had lasted, but.

The troll tracker looked puzzled, and for once, Rog'nar understood completely. "Dey both here, mon. Together, but before da snow." He picked up the cast off tunic and held it up while the hellhound grinned and whined, amused at its own prowess. "An' now, she have no clothes."

Rog'nar could figure that part out all by himself. "Bull picked her up and went dat way." The troll pointed unerringly towards the only structure for miles, a single, abandoned watchtower. So, Raheli was out here, alone, and now naked, with a single giant bull who vaporized the tops of wolves' skulls with an axe? He moved to the watchtower, drawing his own battleaxe and warily easing the door open. It was dark, but reassuringly warm, and he began to climb the spiral stairs up. He was well ahead of the troll when he came to the expanse of flooring at the top, and his heart sank.

"She dere?" The troll asked, coming up behind him. "Oh. Dat is bad." He stated morosely. "Bad, bad mojo."

Rog'nar swallowed down rage, moving up. He'd been through wars, he'd been through hell, and he'd seen rape before. His kind were not known for it, orcish lust was blood lust, but it was not unheard of. And others indulged in it as well, even the tauren. He pulled the blanket back and growled. It was difficult to deny the obvious, though. Raheli was bound, hands and hooves, spread eagled. There was a small amount of blood between her thighs, but nowhere else.

"Cut her free, and we'll take her back." He had failed. His only job was to keep one rather shy tauren safe, and he had failed. The troll cut the bindings, his dark eyes disturbed, and Rog'nar grasped Raheli's hand.

"We make our own way back, mon." The troll sighed, waving for the hellhound. "Take her back."

Rog'nar nodded, and enacted the portal stone he carried to bring her home. Saurfang waited in the arrival point, Raheli's rooms, and he blinked when Rog'nar appeared with her. "My Warlord..." Rog'nar began, and silenced when Saurfang's expression closed.

"Who?" The old orc asked, and Rog'nar shrugged helplessly.

"What?"

That question had more of an answer. "Tauren bull or Taunka. The tracks were obvious. She was taken by one of her own."

Saurfang growled, moved forward, then paused, staring, wrinkling his nose. Rog'nar watched, of course she smelled now. That went without saying, but the odd edge of her scent had worn down. She smelled of blood...

"Wine and silken cords?" Saurfang demanded, and Rog'nar startled. She did smell of wine, she was bound in silk. She'd been resting on fine furs. "How many were dead?"

How many? "None, milord. There was no sign that she put up a fight at all. There was only sign that there had been one bull there, and no sign of a fight." That was wrong. That was what bothered him about it. Her clothes had been outside, the bull had carried her a hundred paces, without waver or struggle. There had been no blood outside, nor anywhere else in the watchtower. Raheli of the Horde had been taken without a blow. Even ill, that was inconceivable. She had cut a bloody swath through the last who had tried to harm her, even unarmed and unarmed, even _naked_, she was able to put up a fight. "She...wasn't raped." He stuttered, trying to get his mind around that.

"I'm not certain one way or the other. Only she knows."

Raheli woke, warm and bundled. She could smell the smell of an orcish hold, just like Grom'mash, which she considered to be home when nowhere else was. But the underlying smells were not Durotar, and by the crackling pop of braziers, it was not warm like Durotar. Warsong. She was in Warsong, in Northrend...

"Good morning, Raheli." The Warlord sighed, and she turned over. Saurfang sat beside her, his dark eyes on her, his chin balanced on the back of his hands, his elbows on his knees.

"Good...morning, Warlord." Things ached, there was a deep pain between her thighs and low in her belly. The bull, the blue one... Chiar, of the Grimtotem... Her ears heated in embarrassment. How had she come back here? It had happened, of that she was certain.

"Do you feel...better?" It was a baited question and she bowed her head.

"I apologize for my stupidity, Warlord. I will not behave in such a manner again, I assure you..."

"Stop the crap." She froze, nodded, dropped her head. "We found you, actually, Rog'nar found you left naked, bound, bleeding." She felt her ears droop. He hadn't even had the common decency to clean up afterward? "He thought you had been raped. Was my first thought, except for a few very minor issues. I can only assume that you would put up a fight if that was the truth, and you apparently didn't. And if you had been raped, the responsible party took an unusual amount of care... wine, silken ropes, fine furs. You were left warm, and the night was harsh even for here. You've been distracted, and watching every male your eyes fall on..."

She sighed, standing. The ache was deeper, and she pressed her hand to her lower belly. "It's...embarrassing." She muttered, feeling the weight of his eyes on her.

"Embarrassing to get lonely? Hell, girl, we all do. If you needed a randy young bull to bring you out of your funk, that's fine, but running off into the Tundra alone was damn foolish."

"I...went into heat, milord. I... am so sorry."

Never, ever, had Raheli seen the great Saurfang lose his composure. She'd seen him rage, and she'd seen him calm, but she'd never seen him stunned. "You...did what?" He asked, coming up behind her. She was equal to his height, eye to eye with him. "Raheli?"

"I went into heat. There. That's how stupid I was. I knew better, but I never thought it would happen. I'm sorry. I wasn't raped. I was just...stupid." And, by the wind and the sky, how stupid she was. The very idea made her want to cry. The ache in her body made her want to cry. The embarrassment did, as well. "And now I am probably with calf."

"That is not such a bad thing." He regained his composure remarkably quickly, she'd have to give him that. "Why didn't you stay here? There are bulls here that would have been... honored?"

She doubted that. And none of them compared to the blue bull out there. "I found better. I didn't know you had Grimtotem here on Northrend."

"We don't. I don't trust them. They do not serve the Warchief with anything but lip service, and that only rarely. If you stumbled across a Grimtotem, he is not one of ours. But there are many who come to Northrend, Raheli. He could just be a wanderer..."

She met his eyes dubiously, and he shook his head. "Fine. No wanderer. Not with furs and wine. Are you well now?" He asked, staring out of the window.

"I feel more myself. It hurts, but that will pass. Nothing is really harmed." Not nearly as badly as he could have. The ache was simply what was to be expected, the remnants of pain from her opening. "He could have hurt me badly, but he did not."

"Then we let it go, Raheli." He buried his green hand in the thick blackness of her mane. "We give thanks that you are well, and if it comes, we celebrate the life and birth of a champion's blood, your blood. Do not chase that one, Raheli. The Lich King accepts the best to his service, and he does not care _what _they are. Orc. Human. Gnome. Troll. Tauren. All that matters is that they are the best. He left you where we could retrieve you, alive and as well as you were going to be. Some fights should just not be fought. Take a day, recover, and then come downstairs. We have the Warchief's work to do."

Started 2/1/09. Ended 2/3/09.


End file.
